


Insight

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon observes Jim and comes to a conclusion about the present, based on an incident from the past, which pushes Jim to make a decision about his future.  Got that? </p>
            </blockquote>





	Insight

**Author's Note:**

> This story was previously published in "Come To Your Senses 13", though this version is not exactly the same. 
> 
> Though this is a J/B story, it has sort of a Simon spin, by way of instances of his point of view. Hope you enjoy. As always, comments are welcome. 

## Insight

by JC

Author's webpage: <http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's it.

* * *

Insight by J.C. 

Simon Banks watched his men from the vantage point of his office, his brow furrowed in concentration as he eyed his most successful team -- Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. The scene in front of him confirmed the suspicions he had been having, and concern showed on his face. He recognized certain signs, but he wasn't sure if Jim was aware of them, and he didn't think Sandburg had a clue. 

It hadn't happened immediately. There had been too much tension at first \-- Jim's senses had been going haywire and Blair's boundless energy had been a source of friction. But now, Sandburg had effectively wormed his way into their lives, and Simon had started noticing little things. Surreptitiously, he had begun a campaign to watch them. Checking them out in the office, around the poker table, taking quick undercover glances. There was no way he could miss the clues, not this time. 

* * *

Jim looked up and caught his captain staring out through the blinds in his office. He would have been curious, but not disturbed, except for the expression on Simon's face. 

Everyone in the bullpen was standing around rehashing the last big case. It was a war stories discussion with the 'Sandburg Twist'. Jim had his hand on Blair's shoulder, and, though there was nothing really unusual about that, Jim knew that things were different somehow, and had been for a while. He knew he was using the commonness of the gesture to indulge in that fact. It allowed him to focus his senses on the point of contact with his partner, and catalogue its effects without drawing attention to himself. He could feel each strand of Blair's hair lying across the back of his hand; silky tendrils teasing his nerve endings, shooting sparks up his arm, somehow making him feel more alive. 

With a jolt of awareness, things clicked, or rather sparked, and he realized what had been flirting with his consciousness for months now, suddenly recognizing what the difference had been. Like someone who has been in the dark and now finds himself in the light, Jim blinked against the sudden, blinding clarity. 

That expression on Simon's face had been the catalyst. Simon had noticed something, and, evidently, it had registered. Jim wondered what in his behavior, or attitude, or mannerisms had somehow given him away. He had forgotten how observant his boss could be. 

Almost instantly he could name the feeling coursing through him, spurred along by the electricity that came from being in contact with Blair. Longing. Pure, basic longing. Trying to ease his hand away naturally, he could barely control the shaking the revelation had brought on. He blinked his eyes rapidly, and when he focused again, Simon's blinds were closed tight. The hand that had been on Blair's shoulder burned with the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. 

* * *

Jim stood in front of Simon's desk listening to his captain brief him on his latest assignment. He was taking in everything that was being said, but part of his mind was wondering if the conversation was going to take a more personal turn, another part was always unconsciously listening out for his partner. 

"What time is Sandburg coming in today?" 

"Sir?" 

"Have I been talking to myself, Detective?" 

"No, sir. Visiting dignitaries, environmental summit, bomb threats, team up with Joel, got it." 

"And?" 

"And I'll get right on it." 

"Jim, is Sandburg coming in today or not?" 

"No. He has a full day at the university, but I'll fill him in later." 

"Fine. I've already briefed Connor. Pick four others to make up your team and coordinate with Joel before you leave for the day." 

"Yes, sir." 

Jim had his hand on the doorknob, thinking 'Home free', when Simon's gruff voice called out to him. 

"Jim..." 

Jim answered without turning around. "Yeah?" 

"Never mind. Just get on it. I don't want any diplomats getting blown up in my city." 

Closing the door behind him, Jim suppressed a sigh of relief and made his way back to his desk. 

* * *

Simon leaned back in his chair. The prospect of bombs, officials, and environmental issues momentarily forgotten. Instead his mind wandered back to another time when Jim had been standing in his office. 

Several years earlier... 

When the door shut behind the newly formed team of Jim Ellison and Jack Pendergrast, Simon sank back down into his chair. Jack wasn't one to lose his temper, but he didn't take any bullshit, either. Hopefully, with the older detective taking Jim under his wing, that would solve most of the problem. And Ellison was definitely a problem. Six feet tall and every inch full of bad-ass attitude. Attitude that had recently gotten worse, and Simon felt that it was partly his fault. 

A few weeks earlier, there had been an 'incident'. Simon was new as head of Major Crimes, still trying to establish his place with the detectives. Jim was newly transferred from Vice, a hotshot with a good record who was not worried about establishing his place at all. But still, after a hard day, mostly everyone felt the need for a cold one, and the local bar that had been claimed by the cops as their own was almost always crowded. The Major Crimes team had settled off to one side, taking up a couple of booths, and the captain had found himself wedged in next to Jim. 

He hadn't understood it before. There had been a weird tension between the two of them the last few days. He remembered the looks that Jim quickly schooled to his usual smirk, once he noticed Simon watching. And now, the younger man was close. _Close_. Jim 'Get out of my Face' Ellison was _close_. Not pressing himself against the wall to maintain space between them. Not downing a beer with a surly expression, tossing out the occasional story or bad joke. Just holding the bottle between both of his hands, slowly spinning it back and forth between his palms. He would nod, or laugh, but mostly he just sat -- close to Simon. 

When Simon got up, throwing some bills down as his part of the tab, Jim rose, as well, bumping into him from behind. 

"Sorry, Cap'n. Guess I shouldn't have had that last one. Must be time for me to hit the road, too." 

"Yeah, well, see you Monday, Ellison. See you folks. Bright and early Monday morning." 

Various farewells were called out as Simon left the bar. 

"See you ladies!" Jim said his goodbye to the Major Crimes squad and followed Simon out. 

As Simon was about to pull off, there was a knock on his side window, and he looked up to see Jim leaning down, peering in. He grimaced a little at the close-up of the mustached face, blue eyes hidden in the darkness, shadowed under the brim of a baseball cap. The kid needed to clean up his act -- keep in mind that he was no longer in Vice. Rolling down the window, he said gruffly, "Yeah, what is it Ellison?" 

"Hey, Captain. I was wondering if you could give me a ride home. Wouldn't want to drive under the influence and all that, you know." 

Simon had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping, because he knew for a fact that Jim hadn't even finished his first beer. He almost called him on it, but if there was going to be some sort of resolution to the strangeness between them, he decided that they might as well get to it. Plus, he had read the personnel files on all of his men, and 'rough' wouldn't begin to describe what Ellison had gone through in the past few years. His gut feeling was that Bad-ass Jim was just a cover for whatever Jim had going on inside. 

"Get in." 

"Thanks." 

Grumbling to himself, Simon drove in the direction of Jim's apartment. He kept silent, hoping to maintain a sense of professional objectivity, and not sure what his approach should be, but soon they were turning onto Prospect, and Jim's building was in view. As he pulled into a parking space, Simon had decided that maybe he had been way off the mark, chalking it up to too much stress associated with being the new man in command. 

Then, as he watched Jim reach for the door handle, the younger man said, "Wanna come up for a beer, Captain?" 

Simon almost felt like laughing. "I thought you had enough for one night?" 

Jim's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Well, I'm home now, I can put away a few more." 

Rather than take issue with the drinking point, Simon asked, "Something on your mind, Ellison?" 

The light shining into the car showed the struggle on Jim's face. "No. Thanks for the lift." 

Simon reached out and grabbed Jim's arm, stopping him from leaving the car. "Jim..." 

Jim went completely still, his face turned away. 

"I think that I know what's on your mind," Simon continued, hoping to God that he hadn't guessed wrong. "And, it's not a good idea. Number one, I'm your boss." 

Jim was totally taken aback. Too much so to even deny the implications. He thought he had been so slick, carefully hiding his feelings, but it seemed that Simon had known all along. Rubbing a hand down his face, he tried to collect his thoughts. "We're not at work, now..." 

"No, but you're still one of the men under my command." 

"Captain...Simon..." Jim leaned over, staring into his boss' deep, brown eyes. One brief step away from kissing the full lips... 

"Jim..." Damn, that was twice he had used the detective's first name. Things were out of hand. "Ellison, it isn't right, for obvious reasons. You work for me, and despite the rumors, my marriage isn't over yet. What you're looking for... there are too many consequences, and I'm too old to play games. Go on in, Detective. I'll see you Monday." 

Jim felt a lump rise in his throat. How could he make Simon understand? Hell, he was hard-pressed to understand it himself. He could find sex anywhere. Women, men, they were out there. Vice had taught him that, if nothing else. But he needed more, and didn't know where to find it, or how to find it. He was drawn to this tall, dark man, because he recognized something. The gruff exterior hid compassion that he was too afraid to ask for. Sex he could handle, and maybe with Simon the rest would follow. This strong, caring man could be his salvation, and perhaps keep him from drowning. 

He almost tried to take the kiss anyway. Let Simon deal with that. Let him try to push him away after that. But, bottom line, come Monday morning, he was going to have to face him across a desk and take orders. Best to walk away with at least a little dignity. He moved back, reaching for the door handle once more. 

"Good night, Captain." 

"Jim, you're a good detective, and I know this is a big adjustment...for all of us. If something else is bothering you, boss or not, I'm willing to listen." 

Simon didn't address the rest. The rest would have to go away on its own.... 

Simon mentally shook himself, trying to clear the memories. The rest _had_ just gone away...after a while. At first, Jim had gotten an even bigger attitude problem, if that was possible, bordering on recklessness. Then, the police captain got a stroke of genius and teamed the young hotshot up with Jack Pendergrast. The rebellious loner had straightened up, cleaned up, shed whatever leftover baggage he was carrying from Vice, and become a hell of a detective. And Simon and Jim had become friends \-- _good_ friends. They had never talked about the 'incident', and it hadn't seemed to come between them, not once over the years. But every so often, Simon pulled out the memory. The kiss that almost was... and how if Jim had been offering more...what else might have been. 

Which led him back to how he had been watching Jim and Blair, and the signs that he recognized -- looks and touches from Jim. Leaning forward over his desk, his brow once again furrowed in concern. 

* * *

Jim walked into the apartment, steeling himself at the sight of his partner. His newfound knowledge seemed to color everything about Blair, and he had to actually work to make reactions and responses seem normal. Even now, seeing the younger man just sitting on the couch, flipping through some papers, made his gut tighten. 

"Pull out your monkey suit, Chief. We're going out tonight." 

"Oh, hey, Jim. What are you talking about?" 

"We have an assignment. You know that environmental summit that kicks off tomorrow? Well, there have been a few bomb threats, and we're on it." 

"Bombs? Shit. Don't people ever just rally anymore?" Blair stacked his papers on the floor next to his bag, and met his partner in the kitchen, holding out his hand as Jim pulled out a bottle of water. Jim passed it to him, then took one for himself. "What does that have to do with a tux?" 

"There's a black tie cocktail thing tonight. All of the visiting players meeting with the local bigwigs. You're in, right? I mean, I didn't get a chance to forewarn you. I know you had a full schedule today. I tried to catch you after your last class, but you were already gone." 

"Of course, I'm in. But, why can't I just sit in a surveillance vehicle out front, wearing my nice comfortable jeans, scanning the arrivals, and passing back info in your ear through the wire?" 

Jim followed Blair back to the couch, taking sips of water, even though, suddenly, he wasn't thirsty at all. He was sure he could live off of the way his partner looked in those jeans, and, from where he was standing, he had a perfect view. 

"I don't think so, Chief. Partners, right? If I have to suit up, so do you." 

Blair groaned, before setting his bottle down and rising to go to his room. Jim could hear him mumbling something about not even knowing whether his damn dress shirt was clean. 

It had been weeks since Jim had looked up to see Simon watching him, and since then he had been trying to stay calm while he waited for his captain to say something, or for Blair to finally notice. Since he didn't have a clue what to do, he wasn't looking forward to either. 

Despite that, or because of it, he was collecting all of the 'Blairs' that he could. Early morning Blair -- stumbling into the bathroom, hair tangled, T-shirt rumpled. Professor Blair -- tweed jacket, casually knotted tie, glasses, hair tied back, rushing out with his bag over his shoulder. Partner Blair -- flannel shirts, worn jeans, hiking boots, not quite tamed hair flowing around his face as he excitedly made a point. At home Blair -- sweatclothes, thick socks, hair coming loose from its tie, strong fingers tapping at the keyboard of his laptop. Jim found he was very much looking forward to another glimpse of Black Tie Blair. 

"Yes!" 

The sound of his friend's triumphant outcry brought Jim from his thoughts. Smiling and shaking his head, he got up so that he could get his own garment-bagged tuxedo. He screwed the top back on Blair's half-finished bottle of water and returned it to the refrigerator, throwing his empty out on his way upstairs to his bedroom. 

"You have an hour, Chief!" Jim called out. It was really more like two, but better to err on the side of caution. "Hit the shower now. We'll have to meet up with everybody to coordinate our positions." 

"Yeah, yeah. Got it. One hour." 

Jim pulled out his clothes, laying everything out on one side of the bed, just as the shower started running. He reclined on the other side, careful not to disturb his outfit, and closed his eyes, pretending that he wasn't picturing Blair naked under running water. A minute later, he was asleep. 

* * *

"Jim!" 

The urgent whisper jolted Jim awake. 

"Shit! What is it?" 

"Help me with this damn tie, man." 

Jim focused his eyes, and held his breath at the sight of Getting Ready Blair. The younger man was wearing a white dress shirt, bow tie around his neck, but with the ends hanging loose. The shirt was tucked into unbuttoned black pants, and he was barefoot. Could even a man's feet be beautiful? Even with tiny hairs on the tops of the toes? The breath that Jim was holding was a sign that the answer was yes. He slowly exhaled, the air hissing out between his teeth. 

"Come here." 

Jim sat on the edge of the bed as Blair got in position between his legs. He was proud of the fact that his hands didn't even shake as he adroitly tied the ends of the black tie into a bow. And even more proud that his voice was calm when next he spoke. 

"I thought you were going to buy one of those shirts where you don't have to wear a tie, or one of those trendy cross-over tie things." 

"Yeah, well, money being what it is, I always found something better to do. Plus, I kept hoping occasions like this would stop popping up." 

Straightening the bow, using that gesture as cover so that he could look his partner over once more, Jim said. "There. Now go do something with that hair. Time's almost up." 

"Hey man, _I'm_ almost done. You still have to shower and everything." 

"Sandburg, I'll be dressed and at the door before you're finished gelling or moussing or whatever." He raised an eyebrow at the look that was thrown his way. "Care to make a bet?" he asked as he went to his dresser to get socks and underwear. 

Blair ran his fingers through his loose curls, looked at Jim pulling stuff from his neatly stacked drawer, the tuxedo, shirt and tie laid out on the bed, then Jim's own short, short hair, and mumbling to himself, beat a hasty retreat. 

"Ten minutes, Sandburg." Jim grabbed the book from his nightstand to leave on the coffeetable. He figured he'd have at least 30 minutes to kill. 

* * *

Showered, shaved and fully dressed, Jim absently turned pages in his book. For the most part, he had been watching Blair as he finished getting ready. Back and forth from room to room, messing with his hair, trying to find matching socks, trying to find matching _shoes_. Typical Sandburg. Then, at last... the finished product. 

Showered, shaved and _finally_ fully dressed, Blair appeared in front of his partner. "Damn, I hate these things. How do I look?" 

'Like something illegal,' Jim thought. "Fine, Chief. Can we go now? This isn't really a party, you know. We're working. We can't be late." 

Blair smirked. "Come on, man. I _know_ you. You probably cut at least an hour off of the correct time. We'll be early." 

Jim smiled. Images flashed through his mind of similar scenes, years down the road -- moments shared at home. And although there was pain at the idea that those scenes might never be played out, the idea itself made him smile even more. 

"Smugness doesn't become you, Sandburg. Let's go, I'll fill you in on the details on the way." 

They left together, drove away together, on the way to do a job together. Ellison and Sandburg -- together. Jim knew the rightness of that. Whatever he longed for, whatever he wanted, whatever Simon saw or thought he saw, there was no _way_ he would jeopardize it. 

* * *

Simon dismissed the assembled group with an abrupt "Great job! Now back to work." One by one the detectives filed out, Jim Ellison bringing up the rear. "Uh, Jim. I need you to stay a minute." Simon didn't need the Sentinel's enhanced sight to see the instant tensing of his star detective's shoulders. 

"What is it, Simon?" 

"I wanted you to make sure that Sandburg knows that I thought he did a great job, as well." 

"No problem, sir. I'll tell him." A slight smile crossed his face as he remembered back to the day that he had first met Sandburg. "He always could pull off a great tackle." 

Some dissident group had indeed tried to make their move at the summit's cocktail party, evidently preferring the public feel of the party as opposed to the closed sessions of the talks themselves. Blair had been the one to bring down the fleeing suspect, and remarkably, the rest of the week had been incident-free. 

"You know that although, technically, he's just a civilian observer, everyone around here thinks of him as part of the team, one of us." 

"That's good, 'cause he's my partner." 

"Yeah, he is." 

The two men locked gazes across Simon's desk. It had come down to that moment, and they both knew what it was about. Years ago, something had passed between them, unacknowledged, unremarked upon... 

Still Jim wasn't going to make himself go there. "Is that all, sir?" 

"Jim, have a seat." 

"Simon..." 

Watching the play of emotions on Jim's face, Simon knew that he was in for a difficult conversation. "Jim, sit... please." 

"Simon, I know that you think... that you..." 

"Jim, you're right. Sandburg is your partner. And he's your friend. Let's not have a repeat of--" 

"Just because I did something stupid years ago, while I was drunk..." 

"Okay, Ellison. That's how you want to play it? You and I both know that you were _not_ drunk. You didn't take more than a few sips out of the one bottle of beer you ordered. Now, are we going to talk about this, or not?" 

"What's to say, Simon? I was young and screwed-up. You straightened me out and kept your nobility intact. End of story. And none of it has anything to do with Blair." 

"It has to do with the fact that the two of you are a great team." 

"I know that. Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to mess that up." 

"And what happens when he notices what you _are_ doing?" 

"Whatever you think you see..." 

"I see a man... I recognize the look, Jim. Blair may not be your superior officer, but I don't think it's a good idea to play on that field. Plus, you have the Sentinel connection. You guys have bonds stronger than some--" 

Abruptly, Jim stood up. 

"Hold up! You think this is about some roll in the hay? That I'm so hard up and horny that I want to jump Sandburg's bones for a quick fuck? That's what you think? Is that what you think I was saying to _you_? Shit, Simon! I was screwed-up, yeah, but I wasn't just trying to get laid. It wasn't that--" 

Jim ran out of steam and dropped back down into the chair. He covered his face with hands, upset that he had already said too much. On the other side of the desk, Simon leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. 

"You were right, Simon. I'll give you that." The quiet, hard-edged voice caused the police captain to reopen his eyes. "It wouldn't have been a good idea for us to... for us. But you are _wrong_ if you thought... Forget it." 

"Jim, look..." 

"No, you look. I'm not going to cross the line with Sandburg, but it's not what you think, and it's _nothing_ like what happened between you and me." He stood up again. "I'll be sure to give Sandburg your message. Good night, Captain." 

* * *

Jim quietly fumed as he straightened up his desk before leaving. All the way down in the elevator, the heat of his anger rose. By the time he got behind the wheel of his truck, he was on full boil. He embraced the rage for a minute, then reined it in. Anger like that was useless _and_ dangerous. Some lessons you have to learn twice. Some you don't. 

He recognized that he wasn't just mad at Simon. A lot of it was directed towards himself. They were two strong men, who were too much alike, that had both been shaped by regulations, expectations, and obligations. They shared the same tough outer shell. And over the years, during quiet nights alone, Jim had realized that the same core that he had sensed in Simon, that compassion he had been afraid to ask for, was at the heart of himself, as well. Safeguarded behind his armor. Afraid to need, afraid to be needed. 

Anger, he had learned to handle. Fear, he was still working on. 'Well, it's been said that admitting that there _is_ a problem is the first step,' he thought gloomily. 

Simon had keen insight, but he'd had the wrong idea, both in the past and present. Jim knew that Blair was also pretty perceptive. If Blair started picking up on things, if he hadn't _already_ started picking up on things, Jim didn't want history to repeat itself. He had no choice but to accept that circumstances might not go his way, but he'd be damned if he'd find himself in the same situation years later. It would not come down to a moment where he sat in his truck with anger burning a hole in his gut. No cold, quiet nights with regrets as his only companion would haunt his future. 

Some lessons you have to learn twice. Some you don't. 

Jim started his truck and headed home. 

* * *

Simon sat at his desk, shaken by the exchange with Jim. The heat of the encounter still filled the room, the emotional words echoing inside his head and fighting for space with his memories of the past. There was a sour taste in his mouth and cold hazelnut coffee wasn't helping it to go away. 

He was proud of the man that he had become. A strong, black man. Surviving. Doing the right thing. 

But, sometimes doing the right thing was a bitter pill to swallow. He had found _that_ out after staying with Joan for years too long. Only to get served with divorce papers as reward for his efforts. And he realized that he had let that concept cloud his vision with Jim. Seeing only what he wanted to see, what he was willing to deal with. 

He gathered up a few files and closed up his office, saying goodbye to the members of the Major Crimes squad still wrapping up paperwork, as he headed down to his car. 

Driving home, he re-evaluated. His detective was right. The situation between the two of them had been nothing like what was going on between Jim and Sandburg. Jim wasn't looking for anything anymore. He had found it. 

Simon blinked his eyes and tried not to think of a kiss that almost was... or what else might have been. 

* * *

Jim had been trying to keep his eyes on the TV all evening, but his gaze was constantly drawn to his partner. Blair had been reading at the table, snacking on fruit, when Jim had walked through the door. He had fought not to stare then, and had been fighting the urge ever since. After showering and eating, he had sat on the couch, beer in hand, to watch a movie. Instead, his energy had been spent rubbing the bottle back and forth between his palms until the liquid grew warm, as he struggled not to watch Blair. 

"Okay, Jim, what is it?" 

Jim slid his eyes back towards the TV. "What's what, Chief?" 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." 

"Then why the looks, man?" 

"Looks? What looks?" By sheer will, Jim kept his eyes on the action playing across the screen. 

"Like you've got me under surveillance. Should I be apologizing for something?" 

"No, not at all. Sorry. Lot on my mind, I guess." 

"Want to talk about it?" 

'Yeah, I want to talk about it,' Jim thought. 'But I really don't think I can,' he added, still to himself. 

All of a sudden, his view of the television was blocked. He glanced up to find Blair standing in front of him. 

"Jim, are you okay? Did something happen today?" 

"I'm fine, Sandburg, really. Just tired. I think I'm going to turn in early." He set his beer down, and waited until Blair had gone back to the table. 

"Sure, Jim. I'm here if you need me." 

The muscles in Jim's legs were tense with strain as he made his way to the stairs. Going up, he noticed Blair put on his glasses, grab his book, and situate himself on the couch in the sunken, warm place that Jim had just vacated. Jim stopped in his tracks, halfway up the stairs, emotion flooding him at the unconscious intimacy of that act. 

"Blair...?" His voice was ragged, and when curious blue eyes met his, he cleared his throat and continued. "What would you think about going out with me?" 

"Tonight? Where do you want to go?" 

Jim blinked, suddenly hit by the craziness of the situation. He sat down on the stairs, covering his face in his hands. The shaking of his shoulders and the gasping sound he made caused Blair to rush to him. 

Kneeling on the step below his partner, Blair leaned close, reaching out. "Jim...? What is _wrong_?" As Jim lifted his head, Blair finally recognized the sound as barely controlled laughter. 

"Sorry, Sandburg. This has been _some_ day. It seems that it's my lot in life to be misunderstood." 

"And you're going to explain this, right? Because obviously I've missed something." 

"Yeah, well, I seem to have trouble getting my messages across." Jim sat up, putting a little distance between himself and Blair, and took in a deep lungful of air, slowly releasing it, trying to let go of some fear as well. "Let me see if I can make this clearer." 

* * *

Simon watched his men from behind the blinds in his office, paying special attention to Jim and Blair. The past few weeks had shown a marked difference in their behavior. There was something about them. Enough so that Simon knew that Jim had indeed crossed a line somewhere. Successfully, too. 

As he observed them getting ready to leave for the day, Simon finally put his finger on something concrete. It was the lack of looks and touches, as if Jim were trying not to draw attention to them. But that's what had caught Simon's eye, and he decided to test his theory. 

"Ellison." Jim and Blair halted halfway to the elevator and turned around. "My office." 

Jim set his jaw, whispered something to his partner, and headed back in Simon's direction. Once inside the office, he stood stiffly in front of Simon's desk. 

"Everything okay, Simon?" 

"You tell me, Jim. Anything you want to say?" 

"Uh...well...if you mean about my behavior a while back... I'm sorry about that. I lost my temper and blew up at you. It was uncalled for and I apologize." 

"I want you to know that I was just concerned about you. _And_ Sandburg." 

"Yeah, that's been pointed out to me. I meant to say something before now, but, well..." 

"Jim, I'm your captain, but I'd like to think that I'm still your friend." 

"Same here, Simon." 

"So, anything else you want to tell me?" At Jim's look, Simon nodded out towards the bullpen where Blair had returned to his desk, and was looking over some papers. 

"Um, I don't know." 

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Simon chuckled. "I'm not prying. But I'm here for you. For both of you. Remember that. Between you and me, I'm kinda partial to the team of Ellison and Sandburg." 

'Me too,' Jim thought. "I appreciate it, Simon. Really." Jim turned to go. He watched his lover through the blinds for a moment, gave a little sigh, then turned back. Shrugging, he said, "I need him. And he needs me. And he helps me to not be afraid of that." Smiling slightly, "He's a force to be reckoned with." 

Simon laughed. "Yeah, I believe that." He walked over and stood next to his friend. "Just make sure you listen to him. You know how stubborn you can be." 

"Yeah, well, you and I are a lot alike, Captain. 

"Watch your mouth, Ellison. Go on, get out of here -- while you still can." 

"An offer I can't refuse." Hand on the doorknob, Jim stopped again. He looked at his friend and quietly said, "Thanks, Simon." 

Once more, Simon watched Jim and Blair walk towards the elevator. Thoughtfully, he considered what Jim had said. He and Jim _were_ a lot alike. Whatever they could have had before, ultimately could have prevented them from developing what was one of the greatest friendships of Simon's life. And whatever it would have been, it probably wouldn't have been close to what was building between the Sentinel and his Guide. 

Stubborn, strong, straightforward. Simon knew that those words described both Jim and himself. Jim had found happiness, so maybe that meant that his own chance for happiness was still out there...somewhere. And he was more than ready for it. 

Smiling to himself, Simon closed his office blinds. 

THE END 


End file.
